Layers of history in Rome

Rome unashamedly call itself the eternal city. But that is ok, as no place in the world is more worthy of that pompous title. It feels like every corner of Rome carries a story. As I roamed the hot alleys, I pondered over the layers of history.

The layers of Rome don’t politely hide under glass. They spill out into the streets, tangled with modern life like a drunken uncle at a wedding. Young lovers hide among broken columns while a noisy Vespa drives along the heavily trafficked Via dei Fori Imperiali, the road inaugurated by Mussolini that cuts like a blade through the ancient forum ruins.

I walk across the Roman Forum, a dusty postcard from the ancient world. Every cobblestone I step on has been bled on, built on, or at the very least peed on by someone famous. Here, emperors once strutted their egos across marble floors while gladiators painted the sand red for sport. Wagons once rolled past the marble palaces on the ancient cobblestones, which still bears the markings from wheels long gone.

Hanging around at Ponte Fabrico, plotting the course for more gelato.

The seven hills of Rome are steeped in myth and legend. I walk up to the Palantine Hill, said to be the founding place of the city, as well as the place where Augustus was born and raised. Today it’s a bunch of ruins. On the other side of that hill I look down on the site of ancient chariot-racing stadium Circus Maximus, looking more like an elliptical baseball court.

Forum Romanum at dusk.

The Capitoline is another one of those immortal hills. Perched above the north side of the Forum, it was once the site of the large temple of Jupiter where Brutus and the assassins were hiding after the murder of Caesar. It was transformed by Michelangelo into a large piazza flanked by three palaces, with a large stairway leading down on the western side. My bucket list is also eternal, so I walk until my legs beg for mercy, because in Rome, even the blisters feel historical.

I cross the Ponte Fabrico leading to Isola Tiberina. It is the oldest surviving bridge in Rome, and it will most likely outlive me as well. On the southern tip on the island, I rest a bit in the shade of a tree and listen to the sound of the Tiber river. The relentless flow of time.